Goals 109: What’s My Goal?

by Carl Raghavan, SSC | August 26, 2026

I occasionally get clients asking me what my goals are these days. They already know I’m strong. If you backed me into a corner, I’d probably say, “Ten more kilos.” But that isn’t really my goal. Let me explain.

For context, my best lifts currently are a 275kg squat, 150kg press, 290kg deadlift, 171kg bench and a 130kg power clean. As I write this in 2026, I’m in Seoul, South Korea, focusing primarily on improving my bench and deadlift.

As I’ve gotten stronger, I’ve realised that something Andy Baker said was right. At a certain point, you simply can’t push all five lifts aggressively forever. The stronger you become, the more stress each lift creates, and eventually the stress, recovery and adaptation all becomes too much. Once you reach the intermediate stage, you have to pick your battles.

These days, a training cycle for me lasts roughly 12 to 16 weeks. That’s enough time to build momentum, string together some quality training, and hopefully move the needle while travelling around the world. Not an easy task. Not every cycle ends with a lifetime PR. Most don’t, and that’s okay. That’s the long game. If training went well, progress was still made; it just wasn’t always an obvious PR.

One reason people eventually stop training, or approach it with less enthusiasm, is that they mistake slower progress for failure. As a novice, PRs come every workout. As an intermediate, every week. Later, every month. Eventually, you reach a point where I am, where PRs no longer happen like clockwork. They might take several months. Sometimes years. That’s usually when people start talking about the “cost-to-benefit ratio” of getting stronger, which is just jargon for quitting. They settle on the idea that they’ve tapped out all their strength potential. When they stop getting what they want immediately, they change their goals instead of forging themselves in the fires of mastery and consistency. Which is hard. But we already know that easy doesn’t work as well as hard does.

For some people, that’s demoralising. The novice effect is over. To me, it’s proof you’ve advanced as a lifter. You’re skating on the edge of your potential. How fucking cool is that? The game changes. You’re playing chess, not checkers. And that forces you to answer a far more important question than when’s my next PR: Why do you train?

If your only reason for lifting is a new PR, you’ll eventually burn out chasing numbers that simply aren’t ready to move, or by demanding too much of yourself, with unrealistic timelines. Strength compounds over time; it can’t be rushed. But if you genuinely love training, the discipline, the habits, the routine, and the pursuit itself, you’re free to enjoy the process regardless of when the next PR arrives. The numbers still matter, but they stop being the only reason that matters. Patience is part of the long game.

Progress might now look like:

• Better bar speed

• More consistent training

• Improved recovery

• Less pain

• Greater work capacity

• Better technical efficiency

• Stronger rep PRs

Those small wins accumulate over time. That’s why keeping a detailed training log matters. When you know your numbers and understand your programming inside out, you begin to appreciate progress that doesn’t show up as a lifetime PR. The smaller wins are all investments towards the next PR, whether it arrives this cycle or two years from now.

The need for constant rewards from training is like going to the dentist at forty years old and still expecting a lollipop afterwards. It’s a childish mindset that turns something productive for your health and longevity into an activity that always requires external validation. Time spent training is the reward in and of itself. You do it because it matters to you, because it’s part of who you are, and because it makes your life better. Training compliance and consistency shouldn’t depend on how many likes you get on social media.

The truth is, I’ve already achieved most of the lifting milestones I once dreamed about. I’ve lived through the inevitable “What now?” It taught me something more valuable than any PR ever could. The feeling of accomplishment fades far quicker than the habits that created it. When the excitement of a big lift disappears, what remains is the routine. The process. The blueprint. The habit of showing up. The time spent under the barbell.

Without training, I feel like half of myself. I realised this most during COVID, when I couldn’t train. I had very little home equipment and wasn’t even allowed to play sports. They even padlocked the outdoor basketball courts. Yes, they were mad times. I found myself genuinely depressed. That experience permanently changed the way I look at lifting. I still care about my goals. I still love PRs. But what I had taken for granted was the structure. The outlet. The daily purpose. The anchor. That’s what makes it more than just a game of chasing PRs. I’m chasing a feeling of being more like myself.

I discovered that during my unwarranted hiatus from the weight room. No matter how strong I become, or what numbers I eventually conquer, I still needed this. I needed the feeling of lacing up my lifting shoes before a session. I needed the moment when I scan the gym and mentally rehearse what’s about to happen. I needed the feeling of unracking that first work set weight, when the noise of the outside world disappears and a cloud of focus settles over me.

Life’s problems don’t stop existing. But for an hour or two, they can wait. For that brief period, I’m completely present. That’s what I need most from training. At this point, I’m addicted to the focus. Not the numbers. All I know is that I desperately need this feeling of taking control of something constructive and positive in a world where so much remains truly outside my control.

What’s funny is that the barbell wasn’t some great passion of mine growing up. It was a career first. The love came later. Twenty years later, the eighteen-year-old version of me would have laughed at the idea that a piece of steel would become such a defining part of my life. Back then, I would have chosen basketball, snowboarding, rock climbing, breakdancing or martial arts long before I chose a barbell, and I still enjoy all of those things.

Yet somehow, none of those hobbies came to mean what the barbell means to me now. Through training, I discovered a version of myself that didn’t exist before. Maybe those old hobbies will return. Maybe they won’t. But one thing I know for certain is this: the barbell will remain my longest ongoing fitness pursuit, with no signs of slowing down.

People can go their whole life not realising what they want to be or what they want to do. I’m lucky to say now – in 20 years of hindsight – I’m exactly where I want to be. I’m a lifter. The weight room feels like coming home.

In an ever-changing world, it has become my therapy, my constant and my compass. I can’t control everything around me. But I can control the weight on the barbell. The PR is a consequence, not the sole purpose. And that’s my real goal, not just ten more kilos.